


Don't Think

by astudyincastiel



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyincastiel/pseuds/astudyincastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes not thinking about something is the hardest thing to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Think

Sometimes all one can do is think about not thinking about things. It isn't an especially productive or effective method for dealing with anything, to be sure, but there are times when it's the only option available.  
  
Spock thinks about how he's not thinking about his mother. Clearly he isn't because he's, seemingly, completely absorbed in a paper on desert agriculture in the middle of the Officer's Lounge. It doesn't matter that he hasn't moved past the fourth paragraph on the sixteenth page for the past twenty minutes and forty-six seconds; he really is very interested in the study. It's relevant to current events, after all, and someday someone might ask him about it. Around him, people laugh and talk, and he thinks about how he really isn't thinking that all those sounds remind him of her in some incredibly illogical way.  
  
 _Sometimes laughter was the only sound in their home; his mother doubled over and his father staring at her, perplexed not only by the display of emotion, even after so many years, but as to what he could have possibly said that she found so amusing._  
  
He doesn't need to see them enter out of the corner of his eye to know that Kirk and McCoy have just sauntered in; over the past several months, he has learned to recognize the sound of their steps, even amid other noises. He looks up as they pause, ever so briefly in front of him, purely out of respect for Kirk's title as Captain. They all nod at one another, and the smiles that had been on his fellow officer's faces don't return until they've left him behind and settled across the room.  
  
Spock thinks about how he definitely isn't thinking that there is anything remotely similar in the smiles of his mother and James Kirk.  
  
 _She was always smiling when he was around; as far back as he can remember, there is a smile on his mother's face. So many others were less than pleased to see him, and she always tried to make up for that. Always smiling; the only one that would dare to in their home._  
  
He stands to leave, and closes the document on his PADD; a tiny crease on his brow the only outward sigh of frustration he is definitely not feeling at being unable to concentrate. He doesn't look at anyone in particular as he leaves the room; Spock has noticed that when he looks at anyone directly, they stop what they are doing and display signs of nervousness 68.5% of the time. He thinks about how he isn't thinking about the irrational responses his mother had to such things.  
  
 _She had always defended him, even when it had put her at odds with his father. She had stared down those that not even other Vulcans would have questioned, and done things that would have embarrassed Spock if he was subject to such a feeling. Intellectually she knew that few would ever be as comfortable around him as she was, but she was determined to try to make them see the error of their ways._  
  
He dismisses the Observation Deck as a place where he might discover productivity, and instead decides to return to his own quarters; if he can't manage to focus there, then at least he can get some rest. At a corridor intersection, he comes face to face with Nyota and Nurse Chapel; he knows her name is Christine, but, just as he can't bring himself to call the Captain 'Jim', the name seems too awkward to even consider in his own mind. They both smile at him, Chapel a little shyly, and Nyota asks if he's all right; he says yes, stiffly, and wonders what it is about his appearance that would cause her to ask such a question. He thinks about how he is not thinking about how his mother always knew when something was wrong.  
  
 _"I've known you since you were a baby, Spock; of course I can tell when you're troubled," she would always say. It was in his eyes, mostly, she would say, and then console him because she hadn't meant to upset him by bringing up a trait which he was teased so mercilessly for. But it was true. His eyes, the set of his mouth, the position of his eyebrows, the tone of his voice, his posture; they were all little things, but she could read and understand them perfectly._  
  
Nyota doesn't look like she believes him, but Vulcans don't generally lie, so he can't see a reason why she should think that he is. It's all in the way the questions are asked, he thinks; she hadn't been specific, and he can see that she's realized that now. He doesn't think she'll ask him again, out there in the hall, with the nurse standing there trying not to seem as if she's intruding on something. He is, of course, right; she nods and steps aside for him to pass. He thinks about how there is no chance of him thinking how familiar that is.  
  
 _She had always known when to let things be, when to back away, and when to push for more. She could sit for hours, silently, waiting for him to be ready to talk, and she could be satisfied with what he said, even when he knew she wanted to know more. She always knew what to say, and that sometimes saying nothing meant just as much._  
  
Spock returns to his quarters and sets the door lock; he does so every night, so there's nothing suspicious about it. Right? He changes out of his uniform into something thermal and more appropriate to sleep in, and sets out his meditation mat. There is nothing sitting on any dresser or shelf that proves he actually uses the room, and therefore nothing for him to actively avoid looking at; all his personal effects are stored in a crate at the back of his closet. Nevertheless, his meditation is a farce; he avoids the issue at hand and instead meditates on not thinking about it.  
  
Later, as he rolls up the mat, brews a cup of tea, and sits on the edge of the bed, he wonders if, in the end, that's all being Vulcan really is, but dismisses it; the notion is illogical. He finishes his tea while thinking about how he is not remembering how his mother always brought him a cup before he went to bed, or how she'd sang all those old Terran songs to him, in a whisper so his father wouldn't hear, when he'd been little and, illogically, afraid of the dark.  
  
What he thinks about instead, honestly, is how he'll have to wake up in a few hours, and start not thinking about everything all over again, and he wonders if, maybe, it eventually won't be so hard to do. The odds are currently not in his favor, but he has heard that anything is possible in space; he'd hope so, if that was something he could allow himself to do.


End file.
